


A Weekend in the Country

by luckie_dee



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the grand opening of Kurt's bed and breakfast fails to bring in any guests, Blaine hatches a plan to get some publicity. An AU of the Dawson's Creek episode by the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Weekend in the Country

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Intergluteal sex. The briefest of allusions to something like bondage. Mentions of Kurt and Blaine in previous relationships with canon male characters. Two oblique references to canon Dawson's Creek characters.
> 
> **A/N** : Before Klaine entered my life, Pacey/Joey was my OTP to end all OTPs. I've been wanting to do some kind of an AU with Dawson's for a while now, and this is the result; however, you should be able to read it even if you've never seen the show. You'll just miss out on a few not-so-subtle True Love related Easter eggs I threw in for the Pacey/Joey shippers out there. :) Thank you as always to my lovely friends and betas, [Lindsey](http://controlofwhatido.tumblr.com/) and [Sandy](http://completelyunabashed.tumblr.com/)!

Kurt held out hope for as long as he could, flitting from room to room — dusting here, polishing there — but by the time the sun was sinking low in the sky, he had to accept the fact that no one was coming.

No one was going to show up on the doorstep with suitcases in hand, hopeful that there would be an open room even though they’d forgotten to make a reservation. No one was going to see the sign in the yard and turn in. The phone would remain resolutely silent. It was a disaster.

Eventually, Kurt stopped himself from rearranging the spice rack in the kitchen for the third time, throwing the cinnamon and the thyme and the ginger all in next to each other. He wandered back to the great room to sit morosely at one end of the vintage sofa instead, frowning at the cheerfully crackling flames in the fireplace. Maybe it was for the best, he reasoned; after all, he’d only built the fire because he wasn’t sure that he could rely on the decrepit furnace to provide consistent heat. Surely it was better to have no guests than a slew of TripAdvisor reviews all singing a variation on the theme of _I nearly froze to death! I was lucky to escape with my life!_

Kurt sighed. He’d rather have guests. And a reliable furnace. But he needed the former if he had any hope of ever buying the latter. Which meant that he was probably going to freeze to death all by his lonesome and then —

A sudden, brisk knock sounded at the door, startling Kurt out of his funk.

For a moment, he just stared round-eyed in the direction of the noise, before a sudden surge of nerves and excitement propelled him to his feet. He spun quickly in place, checking one last time to make sure that everything was perfect. After he’d tugged the pillow he’d been slumped against back into place, it was. Of course it was — he’d been meticulously straightening and cleaning for _days_. Satisfied, Kurt strode across the room, smoothing the front of his sweater as he went. He paused with one hand on the knob, took a single deep breath, and swung the door open.

On the other side, he found fading afternoon sunlight and Blaine Anderson, who was grinning broadly, a cardboard caddy with two cups of coffee in one hand and a tastefully wrapped package in the other. Kurt felt his welcoming smile droop a little, and he said, “Oh.”

Blaine cocked his head as his grin faded to wry amusement. “Well, don’t you know how to make a guy feel welcome.” 

Kurt fought the urge to roll his eyes and reined in his expression before it started to slide toward dopey. When Blaine had first moved to Capeside, everything had seemed so bright and possible, but almost a year of just-friendship — during which time he’d been forced to watch Blaine moon over Jeremiah, the new assistant manager at Leery’s Fresh Fish, and accept dates with snooty, passing-through-town tourists with names like _Eli_ and _Sebastian_ — had faded Kurt’s hopes significantly. 

Although it was embarrassing, Kurt could hardly blame himself for completely misreading the situation. He’d only ever had one something-like-serious boyfriend — a fellow Capeside Community College student named Chandler who'd long since moved away — which hardly left him an expert at decoding the intentions of gay men. Especially ones who, despite a complete lack of move-making, looked at him like Blaine did sometimes, or who flirted with him like Blaine did, or who smiled at him and made Kurt's heart trill mutinously in his chest. 

And then Blaine would do something like stand on Kurt’s porch, wrapped up in an adorable peacoat and scarf, wearing a teasing glint in his eyes above cheeks flushed with cold, and it was all Kurt could do to stop himself from just _launching_. 

In the end, he settled for pursing his lips. “I was hoping you’d be a guest. Or better yet, plural guests,” he said, stepping back to give an exaggerated sweep of his arm. “But please, do come in. Welcome to the Hummel Bed and Breakfast. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” Blaine replied jovially, moving to set the drinks and the gift on the seachest-cum-coffee table in front of the sofa. “I could _be_ a guest, you know,” he pointed out as he unbuttoned his jacket and headed for the closet.

“We’ve been through this. I refuse to let you spend your hard-earned money to pity-rent a room just because my business is failing less than twenty-four hours after it opened,” Kurt groaned, collapsing back onto the couch. “Especially when you live a mile away.”

“Less if you travel by creek,” Blaine said. With his jacket and scarf safely stowed away, he made a beeline for the wooden rocker on the other side of the fireplace. Kurt couldn’t help the fond little curl that appeared at the corner of his mouth when Blaine sank into it happily and started to rock. The chair had belonged to Kurt’s mother, and while Kurt wanted desperately to love it, he found it only slightly more comfortable than sitting on a slab of rock.

“Isn't it a little cold to be out in the canoe?” Kurt asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Of course. I said _if_. Besides, the creek doesn't run past the coffee shop.” Blaine leaned over to nudge the drink caddy closer to Kurt. “I would have brought you a bottle of wine to celebrate, but I don’t want to promote drinking on the job.”

Kurt glowered as he wiggled his mocha free. “Not that it would have mattered. I have no guests. I might as well drown my sorrows.”

He glanced back up to see Blaine watching him with eyes so big and soft and concerned that he had to look down again. “Kurt, I wish you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You _just_ opened. And this isn’t exactly peak tourism season in New England.”

“Yeah, whose bright idea was it to open in February, anyway?” Kurt mumbled. He snapped his gaze up and pointed an accusatory finger at Blaine. “And _don’t_ remind me that it was me.” 

Blaine meekly raised his hands in supplication. “My lips are sealed.”

Kurt let his hand fall back into his lap. “ _I don't see the point of having it sit empty after we get most of the work done_ , I said. I should have remembered that everyone would be sitting at home moping and wondering what they’re going to do with their lives now that Christmas is over.”

“Well, Christmas doesn’t _have_ to be over,” Blaine said, rocking forward and giving the present a little push across the top of the seachest. 

Kurt hesitantly picked it up and touched the thick wrapping paper. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“I know. I wanted to. You should open it.” Blaine's expression was earnest and excited, and Kurt felt his cheeks flush in response.

“If I must,” he said loftily, turning away to hide his face as he uncovered a flat, white box. Kurt lifted the lid to find a handsome guest book, bound in brown leather. He trailed his fingertips lightly over the words _Hummel Bed and Breakfast_ embossed on the cover and glanced back up at Blaine.

“Well?” Blaine asked, his eyebrows quirking up. “Do you like it?”

“It’s lovely,” Kurt said softly, looking back down at the book, his brow creasing.

“But…?”

Kurt settled the lid back onto the box and sighed. “There are no guests. There aren’t even any reservations. A guest book isn’t much use if there’s no one to sign it.”

“ _Kurrrt_ ,” Blaine said, concern creeping back across his features. “Don’t stress yourself out. It takes time to build up a reputation. You’ve only been open for one _day_.”

Before Kurt could even open his mouth to answer, the phone rang, the noise sharp in the quiet room. Kurt tried to roll his eyes in the face of Blaine’s elated smile, but it was hard to coordinate when his own grin was threatening to break out. He jumped to his feet and gave Blaine a bright-eyed glance as he answered the call. “Thank you for calling the Hummel Bed and Breakfast. How may I help you?” Blaine watched him radiantly.

Which only made it worse when Kurt heard the voice on the other end of the line. He angled his body away from Blaine as his shoulders drooped and his face fell. “No, I’m sorry, I’m perfectly content with my long distance service,” he bit out, before rushing on. “But what about you? Have you ever considered a vacation on the Cape? You can take a room at our lov-” There was a sharp click and he yanked the phone away from his ear, spinning to face Blaine again. “She hung up on me. A _telemarketer_ hung up on me.”

To his credit, Blaine didn’t _really_ smile, but his eyes were amused, and beneath them, he was pressing the fullness of his lips into a thin line.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Kurt admonished, pointing the phone angrily in his direction. 

Blaine tossed his hands up again in innocence. “I’m not!” 

“This is _serious_ ,” Kurt added, and he hated that his voice bordered on whiny, because it really _was_.

Blaine’s face softened. “Kurt, I —” 

There was a knock at the door. 

“I think everything will be just fine,” Blaine finished, grinning anew.

Kurt set the phone aside and straightened the hem of his sweater, exchanging one last look with Blaine before turning to swiftly cross the room. He opened the door to find a cheerful-looking middle-aged couple. “Hello. How can I help you?”

“We were wondering…” the man started.

“Yes?” Kurt prompted.

“Have you accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as your personal savior?” He extended a pamphlet. 

“God loves you,” the woman added.

Kurt gaped for a moment before his face tightened into a full-fledged scowl. “I’m not sure that you would say that if you knew me better. Isn’t that right, honey?” he asked, purposefully opening the door wider so that Blaine was visible, and screw what he thought of the implication. “But, oh! If you need someplace to stay when you’re done with your unwelcome proselytizing, we have several vacancies.”

The man’s face had long since turned sour. “No, thank you,” he said. When it became obvious that Kurt wasn’t going to take the pamphlet, he retracted it briskly and beat a hasty retreat, the woman hot on his heels.

Kurt turned to see that Blaine had been giving the couple a cheeky wave. He looked almost like he might start laughing again, but it faded when he took in Kurt’s face.

“I’m glad you find this so funny,” Kurt snapped, flopping back down onto the couch. 

Blaine sighed. “This is going to work out, Kurt. I believe it. I _know_ it. Please don’t beat yourself up.”

“I can’t help it,” Kurt groaned. “What if I _never have a guest_? I’ve put so much time and effort and money into this place. My _dad_ has invested so much — he mortgaged the garage, and he renovated the second floor so that he and Carole could live there instead of here. If I fail, my dad could lose his business and my family could lose their home.” His eyes flared wide with horror. “Actually, they could lose _two_ homes.”

“Kurt…”

“And it was my mom’s dream,” Kurt finished miserably. 

Blaine looked as troubled as Kurt felt, but his voice was strong and soothing. “You’re not going to fail. You’re not. In the meantime, there has to be something else we can do to get the word out faster.” 

Kurt shook his head. “Like what? We don’t have any more money for advertising, and frankly, I’m not sure I want the kind of clientele that Craigslist would bring.”

“I don’t know yet. But we’ll think of something,” Blaine said firmly.

*

The next Friday, Kurt was just getting home to his — _empty, guestless, failing_ — inn when he noticed a figure skulking around the corner of the building. He dropped the grocery bags he was carrying onto the porch and crept closer to investigate.

“Hello? Can I — Lauren?” 

Lauren Zizes emerged from behind the bushes at the corner of the building, a video camera clutched in her hand. “Oh, hey, Cullen. What’s shakin’?” 

“Um, nothing. And my name is Kurt,” he added with mild annoyance. There hadn’t been _that_ many students at Capeside High, and _he_ remembered _her_ — although, if he were being fair, he had to admit that her resume as the A/V club president and the only female wrestler in school history probably made her more memorable than the weird gay kid who sang in the tiny glee club.

“I know,” she said, turning to sweep the camera towards the creek.

“Then why…?” His voice dropped away as Lauren shot him a pointed look, which slid from his face to his hands to his hair. Kurt pressed his lips into a thin line. “Oh. I really don’t think that’s a valid comparison.”

“Can it, K-Pattz. I’m trying to concentrate.” 

“On — what, exactly?”

With a sigh, Lauren stopped recording and dropped the camera to her side. “Your boyfriend told me that you wanted to put together a promotional video for your little inn. Post it online; link it to some travel sites.”

Kurt’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “My… boyfriend?”

Lauren shot him a similarly incredulous look. “Blaine Anderson? Piano teacher? Yay tall?” She jutted her hand out at waist level. “Moved to town about a year ago, and, I assume, into your pants?”

Kurt felt his face heat up as he shifted on his feet. “No. He’s not… I mean, he’s just a friend of mine.”

“Ah,” Lauren said. She watched him appraisingly for a moment, like she was waiting for him to give something away. When Kurt didn’t do anything except stare right back, she raised her camera again and added, “Huh. Too bad.”

After a few flustered seconds, Kurt’s brain caught up with her words, and he asked, “Wait — Blaine asked you to make a video about the B&B?”

“That’s what I said.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes. “And you’re doing it out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Nope. I’m doing it for a two-pound bottle of whey protein and a box of Mallomars.” 

“I don’t have —”

“No need,” Lauren said, flicking a hand in his direction. “I don’t start work until I receive payment in full.”

Huffing, Kurt crossed his arms over his chest. “I _told_ him not to spend his money on this,” he muttered, more to himself than to Lauren.

She shrugged and responded anyway. “Too late. But hey, now that you’re here, I can get some shots of the interior. Maybe do a quick interview with the proprietor, if he can manage to wipe that bitch glare off his face for a few minutes?”

Kurt scowled harder for a moment before he relented. “He can. This is… a really good idea, actually.”

“Yup. Your _friend_ is chock full of them. Come on.”

*

Shortly after Lauren left, Blaine burst in through the front door, not even waiting for Kurt to open it after his sharp knock. “Kurt! Hey! How did everything go with the video? I ran into Lauren outside.”

“Fine,” Kurt said, arching an eyebrow Blaine looked like he was about to vibrate out of his peacoat with excitement. “But I’m reimbursing you for whatever paid her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Blaine scoffed. “It was barely twenty-five dollars. Just remember me when you’re running the most popular B&B on the East coast.”

Kurt felt his lips tug upwards fondly. “I admire your optimism, Blaine, and don’t get me wrong, it’s a great idea, but I don’t think that posting one video online will —”

“There’s more,” Blaine cut in, grinning.

“You’re starting a YouTube channel for me?” Kurt asked dryly.

Blaine rolled his eyes and then focused them back on Kurt, smiling all over his face. “Even better. Do you know Carmen Tibideaux?” 

“The name sounds vaguely familiar,” Kurt replied slowly.

“She’s, like, the Roger Ebert of the B&B world,” Blaine explained, his voice pitching up a little with how excited he was. “She writes for _Travel_ , _Travel and Leisure_ , and, most importantly, the _New York Times_ travel section, which will soon feature a glowing review of the Hummel Bed and Breakfast.” He beamed at Kurt when he finished, obviously waiting for his reaction.

“You… gave someone a case of junk food to hack the _New York Times_?” Kurt guessed, his brow creasing.

“ _No_. She’s coming here!”

Blaine was still watching him closely to see how he'd respond, so Kurt tried valiantly not to let the panicky feeling in the pit of his stomach reflect on his face. “She’s coming here?”

“Yes! One of my dad’s business partners knows someone who knows someone…” Blaine waved his hand. “I asked him to pull a few strings, but I had no idea he’d be able to work something out so quickly!”

Kurt managed a thin smile. “Wow. That’s… wow. Quickly, huh? When will she be here? Hopefully I’ll have enough time to get everything ready.”

“Oh.” Blaine shifted on his feet. “Well, kind of soon. But I’ll help with whatever you need.”

“How soon is soon?” Kurt asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

Blaine cringed in on himself a little, and his voice came out squeaky as Kurt’s scowl deepened. “This weekend?”

“Is that a question?”

“Well… no. There was a cancellation in her schedule. Apparently, there were some problems at the place she was supposed to review this weekend —”

“As opposed to here?” Kurt burst out, practically shouting even as he mentally warned himself to keep his voice down. “I can’t even guarantee that the furnace will make it through the night!”

“Well, isn’t that better than an infestation of cockroaches? One that was discovered when the police raided your inn because you were letting a drug trafficking ring use the spare room behind your pantry?”

“What?”

“The place she was supposed to stay,” Blaine said solemnly. “They were serious problems.”

Kurt shook his head slowly. “Be that as it may, she can’t stay here either. The last guest room isn’t even finished, the furnace that Methuselah built could give up the ghost at any time, and I still don’t have any guests! A travel critic from the _New York Times_ cannot stay at an empty inn!”

Blaine perked back up at that, some of the vibrancy returning to his face. “Ah!” he said. “That last one won’t be a problem. Guests, if you please?” He crossed back to the door and grandly swung it open.

At the wave of his hand, two people entered. Kurt stared dumbly as Hiram Berry and Shelby Corcoran came to stand beside Blaine, Hiram giving him a little wave. “Hey, Kurt,” he said.

“Here we have,” Blaine announced, “a couple celebrating their anniversary by renewing their vows on the Cape, in the same town where they got married twenty-five years ago!”

Kurt gaped. He knew that Rachel’s odd assortment of parents had formed an unexpected friendship after the whole story of Rachel’s conception and adoption had come to light during their junior year of high school, but surely this was stretching the lie a little thin.

“Rachel asked us to send her apologies,” Shelby said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “Her show opens in less than two weeks, and she couldn’t get away, so she sent us instead.”

“Only too happy to help,” Hiram added. Kurt couldn’t help but be warmed a little, despite his shock. Attending Rachel’s fathers’ wedding had been a seminal event in his formative years, and they’d always offered him refuge and a sympathetic ear when things got tough in ways that his own father couldn’t understand. “I would have brought Leroy with me, but, well, no amount of Google searching could turn up Ms. Tibideaux’s opinions on marriage equality.”

“Great,” Kurt muttered. Never mind that the proprietor was gay. “Look, I appreciate this very much, but I’m not sure —”

“Just wait!” Blaine interrupted. “There’s more!” He gestured to the door again.

And in strolled Quinn Fabray, leading Beth by the hand and trailed closely by Noah Puckerman. 

“A couple bringing their young daughter back to the community where they grew up and fell in love.” Blaine’s grin looked slightly maniacal as he motioned like he was presenting a game show prize.

“Oh my god,” Kurt said faintly.

Quinn swung Beth's hand to distract her from looking longingly at Shelby. “I’m home for a long weekend anyway,” she said. “And I thought it would be a good excuse to spend some time with Beth.”

“Yeah, me too,” Puck added. “Plus Blaine promised to buy me a six-pack.” 

Kurt glared at Blaine again, who met it with a pleading smile and said, “And I’ll be here too, of course.”

“And what’s your story?” Kurt growled. 

“Friend of the owner?” Blaine said hopefully.

With a huff of breath, Kurt bit out, “We’ll see. Can I talk to you outside for a moment?” Blaine's face rapidly fell and paled, but he nodded. “As for the rest of you,” Kurt continued, “thank you very much for your willingness to do this, but you’re free to go.”

Blaine paused in the doorway and held up a hand. “Don’t leave yet,” he said. “Just — give us a minute?”

Kurt sighed and ushered Blaine out the door, shutting it behind them and wrapping his arms around his stomach against the frigid air. “ _Blaine_ ,” he hissed, pacing back and forth a few steps. “I don’t even know where to _start_ …”

“Look, I know it’s a little crazy, but just think about it —”

“You should have asked me first!” Kurt interjected. “The time for me to think about it would have been _before_ you invited all those people here!”

“You would have said no!” Blaine protested.

“With good reason!” Kurt shot back. “You don’t invite critics to the first read-through of a new show. Would you make one of your students play a piece for the first time at a recital? Especially if their family’s financial security depended on them performing perfectly?” He felt embarrassingly close to tears and pivoted on his heel to look out at the creek. 

Blaine was silent for a moment before speaking quietly. “I’m sorry. I’ll call right away. Let’s go inside first; you’re shivering.”

It was at least partially due to emotion, but Kurt refrained from mentioning it. “Thank you,” he said instead, turning to follow Blaine back into the inn. 

Kurt paused after closing the door, taking a few moments to collect himself before facing his guests again. He drew in deep, low breaths through his nose, just like he’d learned when Rachel had given him a handful of yoga lessons for his birthday. 

He was startled out of his reverie by a forceful knock.

Kurt puffed out the lungful of air he’d just taken and glared at the door, not bothering to put anything more than a tight grimace on his face when he tugged it back open and snapped out, “Can I help you?”

He was greeted with a deeply unimpressed look on the face of a stately woman in a headscarf and a heavy jacket. “Hello, son. Is Mr. Hummel here?”

The pit of his stomach slowly twisted and started to sink. “Oh… I am Mr. Hummel. Kurt. Hello,” he stammered, drawing himself up to his full height and attempting to settle his features into a more pleasant expression.

“Oh,” the woman said, her voice flat. “Pleased to meet you. Carmen Tibideaux, _Bed and Breakfast Quarterly_. Is this a bad time?”

*

Kurt watched nervously as Ms. Tibideaux surveyed his best-appointed guest room. He was hoping for some change in her stony expression — which had only deepened when she found out that there was no ensuite commode — but there was none. When her eyes circled back to meet Kurt’s again, he drew himself up and plastered on his most gracious expression. “Please let me know if there’s anything that I can do to make your visit more comfortable, Ms. Tibideaux,” he offered, hoping to turn the tide and win her over with politeness. “I hope you enjoy your stay. Can I get you anything right now?”

She blinked, and deadpanned, “Heat.”

“Pardon me?” Kurt asked. His smile felt frozen to his face.

Ms. Tibideaux wrapped her jacket more tightly around herself. “It’s freezing in here.”

“Oh!” Kurt exclaimed, hurrying to the thermostat in the corner of the room. He dialed it up quickly. “Well, we do like to be environmentally friendly here at the Hummel B&B. Um, when the rooms are empty, that is. Please feel free to adjust the heat to your liking.”

Kurt thought he saw her eyebrow twitch. Or maybe not. “Thank you,” she said, the tone of her voice exactly the same, and suddenly Kurt wondered if — _oh god_ — was she being sarcastic? Was she sarcastically thanking him for deigning to allow her to change the thermostat? He could just see the review: Book now at the Hummel Bed and Breakfast — _you can adjust the heat to your liking!_

He was uncomfortably reminded of the way he’d felt during the glee club’s many failed performances back at Capeside High — and one of those had ended with a fellow student throwing a shoe, which, in a stroke of luck or poor hand-eye coordination, had bounced harmlessly off the wheel of Artie’s chair. The unpleasant, nostalgic sensation of _flop sweat_ crept over him, and he clapped his hands briskly. “Okay! ” he said as he began backing toward the door. “We serve tea at four o’clock, and breakfast starting at eight tomorrow morning. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“You said that already,” Ms. Tibideaux pointed out dryly.

“Oh. I guess I did. I’m sorry. Please enjoy yo- oh, sorry,” he stuttered, almost tripping over his feet in his haste to leave the room. He managed to ease the door shut behind himself without offending Ms. Tibideaux — or so he assumed — and then he drooped against the wall next to the doorframe, squeezing his eyes shut and exhaling a long breath. 

It was a catastrophe. And it had only just begun.

After another sigh, Kurt pushed himself back up. He could hear the low hum of a voice curling out of a room at the other end of the hall, and he peeked in the open door as he passed. Inside, he saw Beth curled up on the bed next to Quinn, who was reading a book aloud. She glanced up around Beth’s head to shoot Kurt a smile, which turned quickly to a glare as Puck slammed one of the dresser drawers. “Is it cold in here?” he asked. “I’m cold.”

Kurt rapped his knuckles lightly against the door to alert Puck to his presence. “There’s a thermostat by the window.” 

“Hummel!” Puck exclaimed, holding out a fist for him to bump. Kurt tapped it uncertainly. “My man! How cool is this?”

“Hi, Kurt!” Beth chirped.

“Hi, sweetheart. Honestly, Puck, it’s not _that_ cold. Just turn up the heat.”

“No, no,” he said excitedly. “I mean, how _awesome_ is this? You started your own place! You’ve got that chick from New York here, and all these guests.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes. “ _That chick_ is a highly-respected travel critic, and thankfully everyone else is here out of the goodness of their hearts so that she’s not staying at an empty inn. Speaking of which, why are _you_ here? We weren’t exactly close in high school.” 

Puck frowned at him. “Hummel, I’m hurt.”

“You used to throw me into the dumpster,” Kurt said.

“Dude,” Puck replied, so solemnly that Kurt couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. “Not since we were _sophomores_. And I totally stopped doing that after Quinn seduced me into joining glee club.”

“That’s not exactly how it happened,” Quinn piped up, sounding irritated. “And can we please choose different words? Or different topics of conversation, for that matter? Little pitchers have big ears.”

Puck stared at her blankly. “ _What_ are you talking about?”

Quinn glowered at him and nodded pointedly toward the top of Beth’s head. 

“ _Oh_.” Puck nodded sagely. “Got it. Anyway, like I said before, I was promised a six pack for staying here for a couple of nights.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Please. You could just shoplift a six pack, and that would take much less time.”

“Hey.” Puck took a step closer, his face deathly serious. “I don’t do that shit anymore. I’m a father now.”

“ _Puck_!” Quinn exclaimed. Kurt glanced over to see her staring daggers into the side of Puck’s face.

“It’s okay,” Beth said. She flipped a page in the book. “I don’t say Daddy’s bad words.”

Quinn dropped a kiss onto her hair. “Good girl.”

Kurt turned back to Puck and crossed his arms, regarding him with disbelief. “So, you’re telling me that Blaine offered to buy you a few cans of beer, and that was enough to get you to give up your entire weekend?” 

Puck frowned at him silently for a moment. “Okay, fine. Whatever. I ran into Lauren and she was editing the video she shot for you —” 

“Zizes?” Quinn interrupted. “You’re still trying to make that happen?”

“No one can resist Puckzilla’s charms forever,” he shot back. “Not even you.” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kurt interrupted before they could get started again. “You’re interested in _Lauren Zizes_?”

Quinn chuckled. “He has been since we were in high school.”

“Really?”

When Kurt faced Puck again, he was surprised at the level of anger in his face. “Is there something wrong with that, Hummel? You’d be lucky to land a lady as awesome as Zizes. If you were into —” to his credit, Puck stopped himself and looked quickly over at Beth “— chicks.”

“Nope,” Kurt said quickly. The days when he had been afraid of Puck were long gone, but last thing he needed was Puck having some kind of Incredible Hulk-style temper tantrum with Carmen Tibideaux right down the hall. “Nothing wrong. No problem. I just never knew.”

Puck watched him closely, and then his features relaxed all at once. “Good. Show me how to turn up the heat?”

He was giving Puck instructions on how to use the timer when a knock sounded at the door. Kurt whirled to see Ms. Tibideaux, face as unpleasant as ever. “Mr. Hummel, you have a problem.”

Kurt’s stomach dropped. “What is it?”

“Approximately an inch of water covering your entire bathroom floor.”

*

“Does she look like she’s having a good time?” Blaine asked, peering around the edge of a bookshelf to where Ms. Tibideaux was sitting stiffly in the great room. His brows were drawn and tense, and his hands were hovering in front of him, curled up into anxious fists. 

Kurt couldn’t see Ms. Tibideaux well, but it appeared that she was scribbling in her notebook, only taking the occasional break to shoot impassive looks at Quinn and Beth, who were playing a board game nearby. “Does a lemon ever look like it’s having a good time?” he groused.

Blaine pulled himself back around the corner and sagged against the wall. He fixed Kurt with a plaintive stare. “Kurt, I’m so sorry.”

And Kurt knew that Blaine was being sincere — it was written all over his face and his posture and his voice. Somehow, that didn’t stop the anger and annoyance that flared up in Kurt’s chest, setting his jaw into a stern line. “We _are_ going to talk about that later,” he said firmly, “but right now, I have to try and do damage control. Can you go see if Sam is done cleaning up the bathroom yet?” He avoided looking at Blaine again, not wanting to see whatever hurt and disappointment might be on his face, squared his shoulders, and swept into the great room.

Ms. Tibideaux looked up at his entrance. “Mr. Hummel,” she greeted him without much apparent enthusiasm. Or any apparent enthusiasm.

“Hello,” he replied, making his voice as warm and sincere as he could manage. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Not at the moment, but perhaps you’d be willing to answer a few questions about your establishment.” 

“Of course,” Kurt said. He moved to sit on the other side of the sofa, exchanging an uneasy glance with Quinn as he went. She gave him a tight smile. 

Ms. Tibideaux poised her pen over her notebook. “So, Mr. Hummel, let’s start with the big picture. Tell me the story of your bed and breakfast.” 

“The story?”

She looked supremely unimpressed. “Yes. There must be some reason why it’s here. Why you’re here, running it.”

“Oh.” Kurt frowned. He wasn’t sure that he had the words to explain why it felt so important to fulfill his mother’s dream, and he was even less sure that he wanted to share them with someone as cold and impersonal as Ms. Tibideaux. Still, he needed to say _something_ , because silence wasn't an acceptable answer. “Well... my mother always planned to open a bed and breakfast, but she and my dad didn’t have enough money when they were younger. She never gave up on the idea — she would buy odds and ends at flea markets and thrift stores. _For the B &B_, she said. That’s some of it up there, and her picture is on the left,” Kurt added, nodding to the fireplace mantle. 

Ms. Tibideaux glanced briefly away from her notes, but her expression remained stoic.

“Anyway, she passed away when I was eight. Cancer. When I was in high school, I planned to go to college in New York, but ultimately, it didn’t work out.” In large part because he hadn’t been accepted at NYADA, but Ms. Tibideaux certainly didn’t need to know the specific details of his failures. “I think it turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because I was able to reignite my passion for realizing my mother’s dream.”

“That’s very admirable,” Ms. Tibideaux said when he was done, and Kurt was surprised to hear the faintest touch of sincerity in her voice. 

Which was gone completely when she looked back up at him and asked, “And exactly how long have you been open?”

“Oh!” Kurt exclaimed, fumbling for a vague answer, afraid that if he told the truth, it would somehow be the start of revealing the whole charade. Luckily — or unluckily, judging by the annoyed expression on Ms. Tibideaux’s face — he was interrupted by a loud whine.

Kurt glanced over his shoulder to see Beth pouting at Quinn. “Where’s Mommy?” she asked, in a tone of voice that indicated it was _not_ the first time.

Quinn gave a forced, nervous laugh. “I’m right here, sweetheart.” 

“Not _you_. My _other_ Mommy.” Kurt watched with horror as she crossed her arms across her chest and scowled.

“She has such an active imagination,” Quinn said, tossing an anxious glance at Kurt and Ms. Tibideaux. She started sweeping the game pieces back into the box. “Beth, let’s go put on your jacket and take a walk by the creek, okay? Maybe we’ll find her out there.”

“Okay,” Beth said sulkily. She didn’t move to help clean up the game, but she readily allowed herself to be herded out of the room at Quinn’s prodding. They passed Sam in the doorway, and he greeted them in a manner that was entirely too friendly for random strangers. Kurt tried not to cringe visibly.

Sam sauntered to stand in front of the couch, clapping his hands in front of him. “All right! The bathroom is almost all cleaned up — it just needs a few minutes to finish drying out. Luckily, the water was coming from the sink, not the toilet, and I think I fixed it. I'll check to make sure before I leave.”

Kurt sighed. _Finally_ , one piece of good news. He angled himself back to Ms. Tibideaux. “Have you met our handyman, Sam Evans? Sam lives right down the street, so he’s always on call to deal with emergencies.” Sam jammed one hand in his pocket and gave a small wave with the other.

“No,” Ms. Tibideaux drawled, eyeing Sam mistrustfully. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“It’s nice to meet y—” Sam started, but he was interrupted by a metallic clang from the direction of the pantry. Which also housed the furnace. Kurt's stomach turned over. A few seconds later, a fine spray of dust puffed out of the vents — including one near the ceiling over the couch. 

Ms. Tibideaux watched as dark flecks of dirt sprinkled down on her notepad, and she lifted one hand to brush them pointedly away. “Perhaps you should have Handyman Evans take a look at the furnace next.”

*

Kurt sighed and clicked his flashlight off. After Sam had taken his turn picking uselessly at the interior of the furnace, Kurt had stepped in. He knew that it had been a largely hopeless cause from the start — for the owner of an unreliable furnace, he had remarkably little knowledge about how to fix its problems, and despite his best efforts at poking and prodding and hoping for a miracle, it remained resolutely silent. 

Heaving another deep sigh, Kurt pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. The call connected after two rings, and his father answered with a cheerful, “Hey, Kurt. How’s it going?”

“Dad, this is a disaster,” he moaned, slumping against the wall and letting his legs slowly sink out from under him until he was sitting on the floor, tucked in between the furnace and a shelf full of canned goods. 

Burt’s voice immediately flooded with concern. “What’s wrong, buddy?”

“The furnace died —” as he spoke, Kurt gave it a mutinous glare “— and Sam and I can’t get it running again. _And_ we live in a town so small that there’s only one HVAC contractor, and I know that he’s in Boston until next week. I sent Ms. Tibideaux to Leery’s for dinner, but she’s going to expect working heat when she gets back, and at this rate, there’s no way that’s going to happen. Everyone ran home to get warmer clothes and space heaters, Sam’s outside chopping firewood, and Blaine’s tracking down enough blankets to build everyone their own cocoon, but _Dad_ , the travel critic for the _New York Times_ is going to freeze to death at my inn, and if she doesn’t, she’s going to write a scathing review, and I don’t know which one is worse! And —”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Burt interrupted. “Calm down. Take a deep breath. Nobody’s gonna die. You want me to come over and take a look at it?”

“You don’t know anything about furnaces,” Kurt said, pressing the tips of his fingers into the space between his eyebrows, where he could feel tense pressure starting to build into a headache. 

“Neither do you, but I’m willing to bet that didn’t stop you from tryin’.” 

Kurt let out a watery laugh. “You’re right.” 

“So? What d’ya say?”

And Kurt thought that it was probably silly for someone who was twenty-three years old, and therefore, ostensibly an adult, to feel so comforted by the thought of having his father there, but it didn’t change the fact that he did. “Thanks, Dad,” he said with a sniffle and what felt like his first genuine smile in hours. “That would be great.”

*

Ultimately, Burt didn’t have any more luck with the furnace than Kurt or Sam had, but he did turn out to be a great deal of help when they returned to the common room to find Sam and Blaine utterly confused over how to start a fire. 

“I’ve never even gone camping,” Blaine said quietly to Kurt, his eyes too wide and too apologetic for his expression to just be about the fire. 

“It looks way easier when my dad does it,” Sam added indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Burt chuckled. “Step aside, boys,” he said, moving forward to take charge of building the fire. “You’ll never get it started with hickory on the bottom.”

Blaine sidled up next to Kurt as he stepped out of the way, still looking at him in a way that was almost pleading. Kurt wanted to give him a reassuring smile — he really did and he tried, but he was pretty sure that all he managed to do was thin his lips. He _hated_ being mad at Blaine. He didn’t think that he really ever had been before, and now it felt like he’d slept wrong and woken up with a sore neck — an aching twinge serving as a constant reminder that something wasn’t quite _right_ , and he didn't know how to make himself feel better. Blaine’s face fell and he smiled weakly in return.

“There!” Burt announced, interrupting the awkward moment as he stepped back from the rapidly-growing fire. Kurt accepted a thick comforter from Blaine and retreated to sit on the floor beside the chair his father had chosen. Blaine, meanwhile, wrapped himself in a quilt and claimed the rocking chair, looking rather despondently into the flames. 

Kurt heard someone draw in a deep breath from the window seat, and he looked up to see Quinn with a blissful look on her face. “It smells so wonderful,” she said.

“Smells like ten years of my life,” Burt spoke up. “Kurt’s mom and I used to build a fire every night it was cold enough. We’d read the paper or she’d knit. Sometimes we’d talk. She almost always fell asleep.” Kurt heard the wistful notes in his voice and leaned against the chair. “You know you love someone,” he continued, “when you can spend the entire night just sitting by the fire, watching them sleep.”

The room was deeply quiet when Burt finished speaking. Kurt breathed slowly, staring at the flames, the crackle of them in his ears and his heart yearning in his chest. 

“They do say that smell is the strongest sense memory we have,” Hiram said after a moment. “I proposed to Leroy while we were _right_ in the middle of mixing up a delicious cranberry coffee cake, and he was so excited that he managed to drop an entire bottle of vanilla. I'll never be able to smell it without remembering.”

“Baby powder,” Shelby said from her seat beside him on the sofa, and everyone swiveled toward the couch to look at her curiously. “I think the smell of baby powder is always going to remind me of bringing this little angel into my life.” She smiled down at Beth, who was sleeping against her chest, cocooned inside Shelby’s blanket. 

“New car,” Quinn volunteered, a distant smile on her face. “My dad used to rent a car every time we took a family vacation, and he always requested a brand new one.” 

“Raspberries,” Blaine added quietly. Kurt looked up to see the light from the fire, which he hadn’t turned away from, flickering over his face. “My mom’s the one who started doing my hair this way, back when I was really young. She’d pick me up and sit me on the counter in my parents’ bathroom — sometimes my dad would be there too, shaving — and she’d fix my hair. She had a hard time getting me to sit still, so we’d sing together.” As he listened, Kurt felt some of the knots unraveling in his chest. It was hard _not_ to want to grin at the thought of Blaine — tiny and no doubt adorable, kicking his legs and singing. A small smile was tugging at the corners of Blaine’s mouth too as he finished his story: “She used hair gel that smelled like raspberries.”

While Puck talked about Simchat Torah and the scent of Chinese food, Blaine finally looked up and flicked a glance in Kurt’s direction. Kurt held his eye and carefully mouthed _you still do_. 

Something in Blaine’s expression softened, and he shrugged, looking almost bashful. _Sometimes_ , he mouthed back. 

They blinked at each other a few times, slowly, until Kurt snapped his eyes back down and hugged his knees to his chest inside his blanket. He breathed into the silence and then said, “Blueberry pancakes.”

Burt chuckled behind him. “Yeah, I know that smell.”

“Mom.” Kurt smiled. “Every Sunday morning, she would make blueberry pancakes from scratch. I feel bad for all of you that you never got to taste them, because they were the best blueberry pancakes in the world.” Kurt shot a look around the room and found everyone watching him with varying degrees of fondness. “She had a big collection of molds for all the seasons, so we’d make them into shapes. I’ve tried to make them dozens of times, but I can never quite get them to taste the same.”

“Hey, your pancakes are great, buddy,” Burt interjected. 

“Thanks, Dad, but you know hers were better. And it was her dream to serve them one day at her own bed and breakfast. She never got to make that happen, so I’m going to take my best shot.” He met Blaine’s eyes across the room, and they were so warm and so unnerving that Kurt's stomach flipped. “Even if I have to overcome a bad review in _The New York Times_ ,” he added, smiling a little. Blaine ducked his head. 

Just as the sound of someone clearing their throat cut through the room. 

Kurt glanced toward the door with trepidation to see Carmen Tibideaux standing there, the look on her face quickly dampened his hope that she might have just walked in. He could feel everyone’s eyes swinging back to him, and he slowly climbed to his feet. “Ms. Tibideaux,” he said, surprised at how calmly his voice came out. “I think we can both agree that this isn’t a five-star B&B. Not yet. But I’m pretty sure my mother would have loved it.” He turned back to his guests. “Thank you for coming, all of you, but you’re free to go. There’s no reason for you to sleep here when you all have warm homes you can go to. Good night.”

He left the room without another word.

*

Kurt woke the next morning in a cold room with what felt like an even colder nose. He groaned and tugged the covers over his head, soaking up the heat of his own breath until he started to feel like he was suffocating. It was a shame, he thought as he surfaced, gasping in cool air — spending the next few days (or weeks, or more) buried under a pile of blankets didn’t sound like such a horrible idea. 

The room was dark, but not pitch black, and the clock showed that it was a little before six in the morning. It had been a fitful night of sleep, and Kurt wasn’t sure that he was going to be able to convince himself to drift off again, so he dared to duck out from under the warm bedding to flick the space heater on. Blaine had appeared at his door carrying it shortly after Kurt had made his dramatic exit from the great room the night before. He hadn’t drawn any unnecessary attention to the fact that Kurt was fighting back tears, but his big, expressive eyes were speaking volumes as they exchanged a perfunctory _thank you_ , _you’re welcome_ , and _good night_.

In the end, Kurt had been grateful for it. He probably wouldn’t have survived the night without being able to flip it on for a few minutes every time he woke up. Being lukewarm and miserable, after all, was marginally better than being a miserable icicle. 

It didn’t take long before Kurt was certain that sleep was officially out of his grasp. He clicked on his bedside lamp, counted slowly to five — then nine and a half — then ten, and leaped out of bed, flinging himself in the direction of his closet and then his dresser. He was already wearing long underwear and warm pajamas, but he had to add a second pair of thick socks, an old sweatshirt from the garage, and a fluffy robe before he felt ready to venture out of this room. 

He crept out cautiously, holding the space heater away from his body, some sixth sense telling him to keep his footsteps light, even though he assumed that everyone else had gone home. They hadn’t, though: at least not if the heavy snores he could hear from upstairs were any indication. Puck, he assumed. A quick glance down the hall revealed that the door to the unfinished guest room — Blaine’s for the evening — was closed too, even though Kurt usually kept it open in case he wandered by and was struck with a flash of interior design inspiration. Kurt looked at it for a moment, his emotions a tangled knot in his chest, and then he turned to move quietly toward the kitchen.

When he got there, Kurt paused in front of the chalkboard listing the day’s breakfast menu: _French toast, fruit, bacon/ham/sausage, coffee/orange juice_. He stared for a few long moments, then impulsively stepped forward, erasing the first line and scrawling _blueberry pancakes_ in its place. He set the chalk back in the tray with a decisive _click_ and nodded with satisfaction.

“Kurt?” a soft voice asked from the doorway.

He spun to see Blaine, wrapped in pajamas, a robe, and a blanket, looking rumpled and nervous and, really, too adorable for words. So much so that for a second, Kurt forgot that he was supposed to be angry. And maybe he wasn’t so angry anymore. He didn’t know for sure, but a smile ghosted across his lips as his eyes slid up to Blaine’s hair. “Blaine,” he admonished, but his voice was gentle. “You should really wash that out before you go to bed.”

“It was too cold,” Blaine said sheepishly. He pulled a stool from the breakfast bar to sit in the corner of the kitchen, where he shivered and wrapped the blanket more tightly around his shoulders. “Which is my fault. Since we never tried turning up the heat in all the rooms that high at once before, and it was clearly too much for the furnace.” He looked small and sounded glum. 

Kurt ached to hug him, or maybe to rub his arms to try and generate some warmth, but he settled for plugging in the space heater nearby and angling it to face Blaine. “I’m about to start cooking. That will help warm it up in here. And there was no way you could have known that the furnace would blow.”

“Yeah, but you were right. The time to test it was definitely not when there’s a well-respected travel critic here.” 

“That’s true,” Kurt agreed, turning to start assembling ingredients on the counter. “But you know what? Life has thrown a lot of challenges at me, and a bad review in the _New York Times_ is just another one that I’m going to overcome with grace and style,” he declared, and saying the words made him feel even more sure of them. He glanced over to see Blaine gazing at him with a tiny smile at one corner of his mouth. “Besides, it’s not like you devised an elaborate plan to destroy my furnace and lure Carmen Tibideaux here to ruin my reputation.” He narrowed his eyes. “Right?”

Blaine let out a surprised squeak of a laugh. “Of course not!” 

Kurt continued to watch him with one eyebrow cocked. 

“Kurt!” Blaine exclaimed, his smile slowly stretching his mouth, more relaxed and genuine.

“Good.” Kurt turned to face the counter again. He picked up a measuring cup and eyed his supply of flour. “How many people stayed? I assume Puck’s still here. Either that or someone is destroying one of my guest rooms with a chainsaw.”

“Your dad went back to the garage. Shelby brought Beth home so that she could sleep somewhere warm, but they’re all coming back. We were going to surprise you by cooking breakfast, but you woke up too early.”

“I didn’t sleep well,” Kurt explained as he began to sift together the dry ingredients. 

Blaine was suddenly at his elbow. He snaked one hand out from his blanket to lightly touch Kurt’s arm. “I really am so sorry.”

He was close enough that Kurt could see the subtle variations of color in his eyes in the slowly-brightening kitchen. His heart skidded a little in his chest. “I know you meant well,” he said. And then he added, sincerely, “I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” Blaine breathed, while the tension visibly bled out of his shoulders. 

“You’re welcome. Like I said, I’m just going to work hard and make this happen anyway. And you,” Kurt said sternly, “are going to help me.” He would have playfully pointed his sifter at Blaine, but he didn’t think there was room enough between them to raise it.

Blaine chuckled softly. “Of course.”

“Speaking of which, are you feeling warmer?” Kurt thought that he must be — Blaine’s cheeks were tinged with pink now, and he was only loosely gripping his blanket. 

With a slow smile, Blaine nodded. 

Kurt cleared his throat, trying valiantly to remind himself that Blaine was always especially sweet when he wasn’t completely awake. He’d been taken in by it on more than one occasion before. “Good. Then how do you feel about chopping up some fruit? After that, you can warm up the meat while I turn the French toast ingredients into plain toast and scrambled eggs instead.” 

Blaine blinked and stepped back. “Oh. Yes. Sure! One fruit salad, coming right up. Just point me in the direction of a cutting board.” He turned away and put a great deal of concentration into selecting the right knife. 

Kurt watched, furrowing his brow and frowning. He wasn’t sure if he’d said something wrong, or if Blaine was just that eager to throw the walls of friendship back up between them. “Here,” he said quietly, passing Blaine a cutting board. 

They worked in silence for a time, but it didn’t stay uncomfortable for long. Kurt started filching pieces of fruit — apple chunks and berries and slices of orange dripping with juice — and Blaine protested, going so far as to shield the bowl with his body and bump Kurt away with his hips. Kurt was eventually forced to give up in favor of frying pancakes, and he and Blaine split the first one off the griddle, Kurt blushing when Blaine made a noise after the first bite that was absolutely _obscene_. “ _Kurt_ , why have you never let me taste these before?” he groaned, cutting off another mouthful with his fork.

Kurt shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. They’re still not quite right.”

“Are you _kidding_?” Blaine asked. “I might need a few minutes alone with this pancake.”

Sometime around the time that Blaine finished the bacon and started the coffee, noises from the other guests getting up and moving around started to filter into the kitchen. Shelby and Beth arrived soon after, and Kurt shooed Blaine away to help move up space heaters into the dining room and set the table. When that was done, he and Quinn started caddying trays of food into the dining room, until all that was left were the pancakes. Those, Kurt took himself, after checking his hair and face as best he could in the side of a stainless steel pot. 

“ _Voila_!” he announced as he swept into the room. “ _La pièce de résis…tance_.” His voice faltered as he saw Carmen Tibideaux sitting at once side of the bright, bustling table.

“Good morning, Mr. Hummel,” she said, some of the edge gone from her voice, but not in a tone that Kurt would quite characterize as _cheerful_. 

“Good morning,” he echoed, moving to set the pancakes on the table and sit numbly in the chair beside Blaine. When Ms. Tibideaux looked down to jot something in the notebook beside her plate, Kurt shot him a panicked look. 

“I told you everyone stayed,” he hissed. “I meant _everyone_.” 

“I thought she’d be safely back in New York by now,” Kurt muttered. He glanced up at his father, who gave him an encouraging smile. 

Kurt sat, dull and shocked, while the conversation flowed around him. Dishes were passed, and somehow Kurt ended up with food on his plate, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he or Blaine had put it there. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Ms. Tibideaux taste a sample of everything, making notes and talking amicably with Leroy in between bites. Finally, she cleared her throat and leaned across the table in Kurt’s direction. “Mr. Hummel, I’ve come to understand that you only just opened, and that, as recently as yesterday morning, you weren’t expecting the pleasure of my company.” Around them, the table went suddenly quiet. 

Kurt lifted his chin. “That’s right.”

Ms. Tibideaux appraised him silently. “I can’t give you my highest rating,” she finally said.

Even though he would have never expected it, Kurt's spirits sank. He could feel his friends and family looking at him, but Kurt continued to watch Ms. Tibideux — he didn’t want to see anyone’s expressions of pity or sympathy. Instead, he kept his face fiercely neutral and nodded coolly.

“However…” Ms. Tibideaux continued thoughtfully, her voice trailing off as she glanced at the open notebook beside her plate. Kurt started a little as he felt the sudden clasp of Blaine’s grip on his knee, and unthinkingly, he covered Blaine’s hand with his own as he sucked in a breath to hold. “I will be sure to let my readership know that, although you still have some kinks to work out, they shouldn’t be afraid to give your inn a try if they enjoy a warm, family atmosphere.” 

Kurt exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Or,” she added, nodding at him and lifting her fork, “the best blueberry pancakes in the county.” 

Blaine squeezed his leg exuberantly, and Kurt dared to let his face break into a smile. “Thank you,” he said, his voice coming out a little breathy with relief and excitement.

“I also wouldn’t be opposed to making another visit sometime next year to evaluate your progress.” 

“Certainly,” Kurt said. “Just… give me a few days’ notice.”

*

By noon, all the guests had left, except Blaine, who stayed to help Kurt clean the kitchen. They ate sandwiches over the sink for lunch, and then Blaine offered to put the last dishes away and playfully but firmly ordered Kurt out of the room to relax. Kurt protested once or twice, but he was more than happy to build up the fire in the common room and collapse on the couch. The last thing he remembered before drifting off was a strong pair of hands tucking the quilt more securely under his chin.

When Kurt awoke, he was warm and snug, feeling almost flushed with heat in the cocoon of his blanket, and he heard the quiet crackle of the fire before he even opened his eyes. He shifted, surprised that he was so stiff when he hadn’t even been asleep long enough for the fire to burn down, but grateful that he’d woken up before the room had grown cold. He let his eyelids flutter open, ready to ease back into the day, when he saw that he wasn’t alone and jerked his head up off the pillow in surprise.

He got one quick glimpse of Blaine’s face — his eyes warm and drowsy and his expression content — before Blaine startled too, clenching his hands around the arms of the rocker and stammering, “Oh! You’re actually…”

“You scared the crap out of me, Blaine,” Kurt groaned, flopping back down and rubbing a hand over his eyes. When he blinked them open again and took another look around the room, he was surprised to see that outside of the glow of the firelight, the room was late-afternoon dim. “How long have I been out?” 

“Um. Not that long, really.” Blaine had released his grip on the chair, but the lines of his body were still tense.

“It’s almost dark out,” Kurt protested, peering suspiciously over at him as he shifted to prop himself up on one elbow. “How long have you been here? What are you doing, anyway?”

Blaine darted his gaze away, looking into the fire instead of back at Kurt. “Nothing. Just… sitting here, I guess.” 

His words made something echo in Kurt’s chest, and his heartbeat picked up to give it chase. He watched one of Blaine’s feet bounce uneasily for a moment, the agitated look on his face, and he was probably wrong, but — 

“You’re… sitting by the fire?” Kurt asked.

“I think you could argue that we’re both sitting by the fire,” Blaine retorted. He glanced at Kurt beseechingly, and then turned away again. 

Ignoring the deflection, Kurt added quietly, “You’re watching me sleep?”

Blaine let out a measured breath before turning back to Kurt, and there was something in his eyes that Kurt couldn’t quite place, something between resignation and reluctance and hope. Then, quick as a flash, Blaine was out of the chair and across the room, on his knees next to the couch and just a few inches away. “Kurt, I’m so sorry,” he said.

“For… what?” Kurt breathed, his heart still thudding dully.

“I didn’t want to dump all this on you when you have so much else going on,” Blaine burst out. “And we don’t have to talk about it now. I’m sure it’s the last thing on your mind. Especially after this weekend.”

Kurt could see that he was working his way up into a full-fledged babble. “Blaine —”

“And I’m sorry if I was being… creepy, or whatever. We should probably just forget about that part. In fact —”

“ _Blaine_.”

His eyes flickered up to meet Kurt’s. “Huh?”

“We can — we can talk about it now.”

“We can?” 

Kurt nodded, the motion stilted and nervous. 

“Okay. You’re right. It’s probably better to just get it out in the open,” Blaine said. He took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he pulled them open again and locked them on Kurt’s. “Kurt, I — don’t know how to say this, so I guess I’m just going to… you are… so special to me.” He darted one hand forward to cover Kurt’s where it rested on the couch, and his thumb made a few anxious swipes across Kurt’s knuckles. “I think — more special than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I am?” Kurt whispered.

“Yes. But it’s okay if you want to just, you know, forget about it,” he hastened to add. “I’m glad I got to tell you anyway. I’ve wanted to for — well, a really long time.”

“I don’t understand,” Kurt said slowly. “What about Jeremiah? What about those — those _tourists_?”

“Distractions,” Blaine replied, looking down and shrugging. His fingers tightened a little. “Distractions that didn’t work out very well at all. Jeremiah turned me down cold, remember? And the tourists were just, I don’t know… temporary. And I’m pretty sure they were both just slumming it.” 

Kurt bristled. “Don’t say that. Anyone who can’t see how amazing you are doesn’t deserve to spend _any_ time with you, no matter how… _temporary_ ,” he snapped. 

Blaine just kept his eyes averted and said a quiet _thanks_ in an off-handed tone like Kurt had just complimented his sweater. 

“No, Blaine,” Kurt said, his voice firm even though he felt like he was about to start shaking. “I mean it. You’re amazing.”

_That_ got his attention. “Kurt…?” Blaine asked, watching him again with a look that straddled caution and hope.

“And I’ve wanted to tell you that for a really long time,” Kurt finished, a little breathlessly.

Blaine’s eyes were all but glowing in the firelight as he gazed at Kurt. “So, you mean… you’re not angry? Or… upset? Or…” His voice trailed away.

“No,” Kurt said softly when it became clear that Blaine wasn’t going to say anything more. “I’ve already spent too much time this weekend being angry at you. Besides, you just told me that you _finally_ caught up and realized how fabulous I am,” he added, letting his voice slide toward teasing, finding that he actually _was_ trembling minutely and barely able to believe the words even as they came out of his mouth. “Why on _earth_ would I be angry about that?”

Blaine breathed out a noise like a laugh, a grin suddenly splitting his face. “Kurt,” he repeated, like he was holding the word precious in his mouth. “You mean you…?”

Kurt nodded, giddy excitement fizzing up inside his chest. “Yes. I mean I.”

It may not have been up to Kurt's usual comedy standards, but Blaine giggled, and then he came up on his knees, his fingers pressing Kurt’s hand into the upholstery of the sofa as he leaned forward eagerly. His mouth was still curved up tight into a smile when it met Kurt’s, and Kurt couldn’t help but grin back. It made Blaine’s lip slide between his own and slick up against his teeth; embarrassed, Kurt tried to cringe back, but Blaine just reached up to cup his hand around the base of Kurt’s skull and keep them close together. 

Kurt let himself relax as Blaine’s mouth softened, pressing sweet, sucking kisses against his own — or, he relaxed as much as he could with the way his pulse was fluttering. It was almost languid, except for the swirling eddies of desperation, of _finally_ , and Kurt reveled in it. He became slowly aware of all the details that had never entered his fantasies of kissing Blaine ( _kissing_ Blaine, kissing _Blaine_ , _kissing Blaine_ ) — the rough and slightly shaky sound of Blaine’s breath, the press of his nose against Kurt’s cheek, the way he teased Kurt’s lips with little touches and flicks of his tongue. The kisses dragged on for long minutes, the air around them heating until it felt like the fire was burning the side of Kurt’s face.

He wasn’t even sure how much time had passed — enough that Blaine’s tongue had definitely spent more time inside of his mouth than teasing it, and Kurt had readily than returned the favor — when Blaine started shifting his weight back and forth, almost like he was moving from foot to foot. Except that he wasn’t standing; he was kneeling — at least partially on the hardwood floor, Kurt realized, pulling away from Blaine’s lips with a wet _smack_. “You must be so uncomfortable,” Kurt said, his voice coming out as a husky murmur. He blinked his eyes open to see that Blaine had stayed near.

“Believe me, I’m really, really not,” Blaine said, trying to lean back in even as he redistributed his weight again.

Kurt let their lips brush together once more. He found that he’d allowed his free hand to make its way to the juncture of Blaine’s neck and shoulder, so he tightened his grip there, tugged a little at Blaine’s thick sweater, and whispered, “You can… you can come up here. If you want.”

Blaine chased his mouth and mumbled, “Will we both fit?” against Kurt’s.

“We can try.” Kurt pulled on the shawl collar of Blaine’s sweater again, though it didn’t seem like Blaine needed much encouragement to fall forward and kiss him again as he clambered up. It _was_ a tight fit, but Blaine climbed over Kurt’s body and managed to partially prop himself up along the back of the sofa without pushing Kurt all the way off. Although Blaine hadn’t straddled him, it was almost as intimate — Kurt ended up cradled in Blaine’s arms, their ankles tangled together and the blanket twisted between them.

“Hi,” Blaine whispered.

“Hi,” Kurt answered, reaching up to run the tips of his fingers along the back of Blaine’s hand where it was splayed over his collarbone, then flipping them up to drag his nails lightly along Blaine’s wrist and under the cuff of his sleeve. Blaine’s hand curled into his shirt, but he didn’t lean down to kiss him like Kurt had expected. “What?” he finally asked, trying to find Blaine’s eyes, but he’d ducked his head.

“I have a confession,” Blaine said, keeping his gaze averted. 

Kurt’s stomach dropped. They’d only been kissing for — well, he wasn’t exactly sure, but it hadn't been _that_ long. What could possibly have gone wrong already? He cleared his throat quietly. “What is it?”

“I didn’t finally catch up.”

“What?”

Blaine’s eyes flicked up to meet his, briefly, and he looked abashed. “When I said I’ve wanted to say something to you for a really long time, I mean a _really_ long time.” 

“Why didn’t you?”

“You were one of the first people I met after I moved here, remember?” Blaine started, and then paused, waiting for Kurt’s nod. “I thought you were so gorgeous —” he ran a thumb along Kurt’s jaw “— but I wanted to get settled and get the studio off the ground before I worried about getting involved with anyone. And then… then you were my friend. Maybe the best friend I’ve ever had.” He stopped again, lowering his eyes to Kurt’s neck and swallowing. “Definitely the best friend I’ve ever had. I didn’t want to lose you. And that was more important than… I’m not going to lose you, am I?”

His eyes flashed back up to Kurt’s, rich and open and searching. Kurt felt pinned down by the weight of them. “No,” he said quietly. “Never.”

“Never?”

“No.”

“Not even if this doesn’t…?”

Kurt shook his head, shoving the thought away. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” he said, trying to break the somber mood. 

“What a shame,” Blaine shot back, the twinkle returning to his eye.

“Indeed,” Kurt drawled. “You should kiss me some more.”

Blaine grinned and looked very much like he was going to say something more, but Kurt didn’t even give him the chance, leaning up to kiss him and drag him back down by the lips. Blaine came willingly, leaning heavily into Kurt’s side and dropping his tongue into Kurt’s open mouth. The minutes dripped deliciously by as Kurt let himself touch, running his hands over Blaine’s head — messing up his hair — his neck, his shoulders, his arms, all while Blaine kissed him, kissed him, kissed him. Kissed him until their lips were pliant and slippery between them, until their breaths were coming hard. Kurt kept his ass resolutely down against the couch, refusing to buck his hips into Blaine and ruin the moment by taking things too far.

At least that was the plan, until Blaine leaned over to drag his mouth under Kurt’s jaw. It brought his body further down against Kurt’s, and Kurt felt an unmistakable brush of heat and hardness against his hip. He twitched into it a little, then away as Blaine brought his head up with a gasp. “I’m —“ he stammered, “maybe we should — I’m sorry.”

Kurt flopped his head back against the pillow. “It’s okay. It’s okay… maybe we should what?”

“I was just going to say that maybe we should, um… move this somewhere else. You’re going to be devastated if anything happens to the couch.” When Kurt’s eyebrows flew up, he hastened to add, “Not that I’m implying anything that we're going to do anything that would ruin it! Just in case we were to, um, get carried away. I really don’t want something to happen to the couch we spent four months looking for.”

“It wasn’t _that_ long,” Kurt said, a note of defensiveness in his voice. 

Blaine laughed. “Oh, yes it was. We started looking for the perfect thing back in the summer, and we didn’t find it until fall. We were at that little antique shop in Hyannisport, remember? It was the first day that it was cold enough for you to wear a heavyweight jacket — or at least that’s what you told me — and it was that one with all the buttons. You had to take it off because it was a thousand degrees inside the store, and you almost left it there.”

“It has twelve buttons,” Kurt corrected faintly. “You remember that?”

Blaine nuzzled into his neck for a moment before raising his head to look into Kurt’s eyes again. “I remember everything.”

Kurt gazed at him for a moment, feeling warmth flood through his body. He ran the words around in his mind, and he felt the corner of his mouth tug up. “That… is _such_ a _line_!” 

Blaine’s expression went quickly from doting to affronted. “It is not!”

“Blaine.”

“It’s not!”

“Yes it is!”

“Try me.”

“Okay,” Kurt said, squinting an eye and twisting up his lips. “Um… what was I wearing at the Berry’s Fourth of July clambake?”

“Ooooh,” Blaine said. “That shirt — you wore it so much during the summer and it drove me _crazy_. Light blue, wide neck so it would slip down and show off your collarbones…” Blaine’s voice trailed away as he tugged on Kurt’s sweater until he could press his lips directly to Kurt’s clavicle. 

Kurt squirmed. “Collarbones, huh?” he breathed.

“Mm- _hmm_ ,” Blaine replied enthusiastically, dragging his mouth and his tongue over them. After a little nip and one last soothing kiss, he raised his head. “You wore it with dark blue jeans, even though they were too warm, because — you said — that you were terrified that someone would spill food on your white pants.” 

“You really do remember,” Kurt said wonderingly. “What about my shoes? Was I wearing any accessories?”

Blaine gave him a wry look. “Do you want to keep quizzing me or are you going to let me kiss you some more?”

Kurt pretended to consider it. “Hmmm… I think… the second one.”

Blaine just grinned and obliged him.

*

Kurt scrambled laughingly out from under Blaine an indeterminate amount of time later, after a lengthening series of _just-one-more_ kisses. With Blaine hovering close, he knocked down the wood in the fireplace and covered it with ash — he might want nothing more than to relocate to his bedroom and pick up where they’d left off, but he wasn’t about to let the building burn down, not after everything — and then they scurried down the hallway, close and touching and giggling.

Their entrance into Kurt’s room was less than elegant: Blaine grabbed Kurt as soon as they were in the doorway, and they banged through it clumsily. He spun Kurt into a hard kiss and started to fumble with the toggle fastenings down the front of his sweater, all while walking Kurt backwards toward the bed. Kurt tried to help, but just ended up tangling their fingers together. Finally, Blaine batted his hands away and pushed the sweater off Kurt’s shoulders and onto the floor. The cool air of the room — forgotten in the heat of the moment — swept across Kurt’s bare arms and he shivered.

Blaine made a small noise and pulled away, rubbing his hands over Kurt’s forearms. “You’re cold.” 

Kurt hummed noncommittally, barely registering the words as he tried to follow Blaine’s mouth. 

Chuckling, Blaine kissed him once more and backed away. “Wait here. Get under the covers. I’ll be right back.” With that, he hurried from the room. 

All the warmth seemed to go with him. Kurt hugged his arms to his chest and pivoted toward the bed, vibrating with cold and nerves and excitement. “Oh my god,” he whispered, trying to rein in a giddy smile as he turned back the comforter. “Oh my god.” He’d just spent god-knows-how-long making out with Blaine — _in front of the fire_ , no less, like they were in some cheesy, wonderful movie, or maybe a romance novel — and now they were actually, really about to climb into bed together. 

Kurt paused on the verge of diving in between the sheets, looking down at his undershirts. _Would it be too presumptuous to assume…?_ he wondered, turning an anxious ear to the door. It would be much easier to get his clothes off now than after he was under the covers, but he was determined that Blaine’s first view of him _dishabille_ was _not_ going to involve Blaine walking in on him tripping out of his skinny jeans. 

Hearing nothing, Kurt hurriedly stripped down to his boxer-briefs — leaving them as one last modesty-protecting layer in case he _was_ being too presumptuous — shoved his clothes in the hamper, and clambered into bed, letting out a hiss at the feel of the icy cotton. He’d intended to find some way to strike an alluring pose, bedclothes be damned, but by the time Blaine reappeared with space heater in hand, Kurt was still firmly cocooned in the blankets, curled up on himself and brushing his fingers over his cock as surreptitiously as he could. His erection had flagged rapidly in the cold.

Seeing Blaine definitely helped, because his hair was mussed and his clothes were wrinkled and twisted, and Kurt only had to remember that he was responsible for it before he felt the need to palm himself more roughly. Blaine’s eyes, on the other hand, softened to warm adoration when he saw Kurt’s blanket nest. “Hold on just one second,” he said, ducking to plug in the heater and set it up close to the bed. 

“Thank you,” Kurt replied, struggling with the covers as he got himself propped up on one elbow, trying to look more sexually provocative and less like someone who was slowly freezing to death. He must have done something right, because as soon as Blaine turned back to the bed, he zeroed in on where the comforter had slipped down, revealing Kurt’s bare shoulder. Kurt grinned. “See something you like? Maybe some… collarbone?” 

Blaine’s smile twisted a little, even as his eyes darkened and he started advancing on the bed. “I see,” he said, “that you appear to be wearing fewer layers than when I left.”

“Mmmm,” Kurt agreed. “You should come see how many fewer.” 

It didn’t take Blaine long to close the distance between them after that, but when he reached for the top of the comforter, Kurt held it tight. “Uh-uh,” he admonished. “I worked hard to make this heat bubble, and you are _not_ going to just pull down the covers and let it out.”

He’d expected Blaine to slide in with him, but after a few seconds of deliberation, Blaine stretched out over his body instead, like he was another blanket, one that was solid and hot and pushing Kurt down into the bed. “Fair enough,” he said, his voice almost a purr. “I can investigate from here.” And he sealed his mouth over Kurt’s.

Kurt responded eagerly and automatically jerked his arms up against the bedclothes, wanting to wrap Blaine up in them, but they were pinned tight instead. It made him feel strange — turned on and claustrophobic all at once, in a way that he couldn’t parse as good or bad. _Maybe later_ , he thought, wiggling around until his arms came free, ignoring the frigid air as he twined them around Blaine’s neck and shoulders. 

He started to settle in, to melt into the kisses, but Blaine pulled his mouth away, taking advantage of the way the blankets had slipped down further to press and tongue wet, indulgent kisses down along Kurt’s jaw and his neck, leaving a rapidly-cooling trail of saliva in his wake. Kurt groaned quietly and tilted his head back into the pillow — as much as everything that had happened on the couch had been wonderful and perfect, this was _delicious_ ; this had _intent_. He couldn’t get much leverage with the way Blaine was resting heavy over him, but he did manage to rock his hips up off the mattress, and Blaine rolled his down in an unhesitating response.

While he dragged his mouth steadily over Kurt’s collarbones and throat, Blaine let one hand creep under the covers, inching it down Kurt’s side, his fingers and the roughness of his sleeve sliding along Kurt’s bare skin. The pace was slow and the angle was awkward as Blaine tried to avoid pulling the blanket down too far, but finally, the tips of his fingers were rubbing the elastic waistband of Kurt’s underwear, and Blaine was making a noise that was practically a whimper. “So just — just the one layer then?” 

“Just one,” Kurt confirmed, curling his fingers into the back of Blaine’s sweater. He bucked up into Blaine’s body again. And again, and Blaine caught the rhythm of it, burying his face in the curve of Kurt’s neck and breathing roughly into his ear. The thought of getting off just like this — rutting together with Kurt almost naked under the covers and Blaine fully clothed on top of them — was momentarily overwhelming, but Kurt hadn’t waited a year for their first orgasm together to happen with six layers of fabric between them. He stilled his hips and craned his head to kiss Blaine’s yielding lips one more time. “Join me?”

Blaine pulled back to blink at him, all dazed, dark eyes and flushed cheeks, and then he was scrambling back, extricating his hand from the bedclothes, and tugging at his sweater. Kurt reached out, only too happy to help, but just ended up complicating things again, somehow managing to get Blaine tangled in the sleeves with his t-shirt stuck on his shoulders. Huffing out a laugh, Blaine yanked the sweater off and tossed it away, climbing off the bed and starting to undo the buttons of his fly, the t-shirt slipping regrettably back down over his stomach.

As soon as his pants hit the ground, Blaine was back, lifting one edge of the blankets to slither underneath and tangling his bare legs with Kurt’s after Kurt got one tantalizing glimpse of Blaine’s erection underneath his purple — _purple_ — briefs. He pulled the t-shirt off before Blaine could even kiss him again, and then he rolled Blaine back into the mattress, tossing a leg over his thighs and climbing halfway on top of him. 

They both moaned into a messy kiss and Kurt knew as soon as he pressed himself down that he’d made the right choice. Being able to actually _feel_ Blaine’s cock and the hard outline of it against his was infinitely better, not to mention having so much of Blaine’s naked skin everywhere. Well, almost everywhere. And Kurt didn't waste any time feeling it everywhere he could reach. 

Blaine seemed to have the same idea, hooking an ankle behind Kurt’s knee and running his hands all over Kurt’s back and arms and up into his hair. He was restless, writhing against the mattress and mewling, until he finally flipped their positions, settling Kurt onto on his back again. After a few impatient moments kissing spent kissing Kurt's mouth, he broke away to start working back down Kurt’s neck. He lingered at Kurt’s collarbone again, licking and nibbling, and Kurt chuckled. “You really do have a very specific fetish, don’t you?” he asked breathily.

“I have a very specific _you_ fetish,” Blaine mumbled into his sternum, trailing his lips and tongue down, down, down. Without trying to, he took the blankets with him, but Kurt didn’t move to pull them back up. The space heater was finally starting to do its job, and the contrast between the cool air, the warmth under the covers, and the heat of Blaine’s mouth made chills run up and down his spine.

Before long, Kurt’s body was bared to the waist, and he looked up to see Blaine’s dark head between his legs and Blaine’s fingers curling into the waistband of his boxer briefs, tugging it down minutely as he spoke into the skin below Kurt’s navel. “Do you have condoms?”

Condoms. Of course Kurt had condoms; even though he hadn’t had a reason to use one in a while, he wasn’t the sort of person to just go unprepa— Kurt froze, and then dropped back onto the pillows. “No,” he moaned piteously. “I don’t.” There _had_ been a few languishing away in his drawer, but he’d generously donated them to Sam to bail him out of an I-forgot-to-stop-at-the-store emergency, after confirming that they weren’t “like, dude-on-dude only condoms” and ensuring that he would never have to hear a single word about their use. At the time, he’d thought it would be best for _someone_ to use them before their expiration date.

“Mmmm,” Blaine said, sounding half disappointed and half distracted as he rubbed his cheek against Kurt’s erection through his underwear, pressing down in slow circles.

“Sorry,” Kurt choked out, more a whine than a word as the pressure against his cock increased and then disappeared. He yanked his head up in time to see Blaine turn and press his lips to the base of his cock.

“Don’t apologize,” Blaine said, pausing to slide up a little and kiss again through the fabric. “I don’t either.” He worked his way slowly up Kurt’s length, thoroughly mouthing every inch as he went, kissing and dragging his lips and parting them to cradle it and flick his tongue against the material. Kurt let his head fall back again and squirmed, whimpering and cursing every deity that he didn’t believe in for the fact that there wasn’t a single condom in the entire inn. If Blaine’s mouth was this magical through a layer of cotton, Kurt could only imagine — 

How _utterly bereft_ he would feel if it _suddenly went away_ after a last kiss just under the head. Kurt made a noise of protest and looked down to see that Blaine had in fact pulled back, and that he staring at the spreading wet spot there. He huffed out a breath — Kurt shuddered at the sensation — and asked, “What about lube?”

“What _about_ lube?” Kurt asked dizzily. 

“Do you have any?”

“Oh. Um, yeah.” Kurt motioned to the small chest beside his bed. “Top drawer.”

Blaine slid away, and Kurt took the opportunity to try and gather some shreds of control back to himself. He was too strung out, barely staying on one side of the thin line between orgasming and _not_ , and he wanted to at least hang on for a minute or two of the handjob he was apparently going to have to settle for. 

But when Blaine came back, he kissed Kurt one more time and asked, “Will you roll over on your side?”

Confused, Kurt started to push Blaine back and angle toward him, but Blaine stopped him with a hand on his chest. “The other way,” he instructed.

“Blaine?”

“Trust me? Please?” Blaine said, his eyes huge. “I have an idea.”

Kurt watched his face and then nodded, slipping out from where he was still partially under Blaine and rolling away from him. “Tell me what you have in mind.”

“Well…” Blaine replied unhelpfully. The sheets rustled, and suddenly he was pressing his naked chest up against Kurt’s back, running one hand around to splay over Kurt’s breastplate and hold them close. “I was thinking…” he continued, snugging his own underwear-clad cock into the cleft of Kurt’s underwear-clad ass and thrusting once, twice, deliberately. “Just this. If that’s okay with you.”

“Yes,” Kurt said immediately, like the word had been punched out of him. He rocked back instinctively and Blaine groaned in response, rolling his hips in again and wetly kissing Kurt’s neck. “Wait! On one condition.”

“Anything,” Blaine gasped into his skin.

“You’ll let me return the favor some day?” Because Kurt wasn’t so far gone that he’d forgotten the amount of time he’d dedicated to admiring the full, round curves of Blaine’s ass. Although apparently he _was_ far enough gone that he was going to blurt things out that made no secret about how interested he was in them.

Blaine nipped Kurt’s back where his neck met his shoulder. “And then some,” he growled. “But in the meantime —” he ran his hand from Kurt’s chest to fleetingly cup his erection, then dragged his fingers back up to his waistband “— I think it’s time for these to go.”

“You too,” Kurt said, already lifting and scooting and kicking to get the offending garment off. Blaine was obviously doing the same, but when Kurt craned around to try and get a look at him, Blaine was right there, kissing him messy and off-center, licking over his lips without finesse. His cock followed a second later, hard and hot and slick with lube against Kurt’s ass, making each of them moan into the other’s mouth. Kurt yanked his away a second later to reposition himself, arching his back to press more obscenely into Blaine’s erection and rub up along the length of it. 

“Kurt,” Blaine whined, his breathing harsh and loud in Kurt’s ear. Kurt just did it again, then reached his free hand down to spread himself wider and better seat Blaine between the cheeks of his ass. “Oh my god, Kurt,” Blaine gasped, gripping Kurt firmly around his chest again. His answering thrust was strong and jerky and made Kurt throb between his legs when Blaine’s cock rubbed firm and slippery over his hole. 

“Come on, Blaine,” he muttered, and Blaine obliged, inching closer to lift his thigh against Kurt’s and fall into steady rhythm against his ass. It was forceful enough that Kurt was rocked toward the mattress with every buck of Blaine's hips, so he leaned forward, bracing himself up on one elbow to keep himself from falling completely onto his stomach — he was determined to find a way to sneak a hand onto his cock, and he was going to need it sooner rather than later. Everything was so close and hot, and Blaine’s sticky skin was everywhere and his mouth was dragging hot and open over Kurt’s neck and shoulder in a way that couldn’t rightfully be called kissing, and he was rutting hard and uninhibited into the crack of Kurt's ass. There was nothing left but a fast freefall into orgasm, and before Kurt could even figure out how to rearrange his elbows to jerk himself off, Blaine’s hand was there, stroking him firmly. 

Kurt gasped at the perfect, sudden pressure and lurched into it, and then back into Blaine’s hips unevenly, throwing off their rhythm. “Oh,” he whined. “I — “ 

“Kurt, you feel so good,” Blaine groaned, right into his ear, right where every grunt and helpless noise and ragged breath had been amplified since they’d started. “So good. Are you close? I'm close. Please —”

“Yeah,” Kurt choked out. “Yeah.” He steadied himself against the mattress and let his body fall back into rhythm, let the movement of Blaine’s body drive his cock through the grip of Blaine’s fist, squeezed his eyes shut and squeezed the muscles of his ass against Blaine’s dick and focused on the pleasure winding tighter and pulsing through him and through him and _out_ as he came hard into the topsheet, where it was crumpled under his stomach. He was barely aware when Blaine followed suit a few seconds later, warm between their bodies and onto Kurt’s back. 

Kurt’s shaking limbs gave out then, and he let them both collapse onto the bed, Blaine half on top of him, heavy and smearing the mess between their bodies together. Kurt could feel dampness against his abdomen too, and, wrinkling his nose, he pushed himself back far enough to drag the soiled sheet out from underneath himself. He shivered as the forgotten bite in the air met the exposed parts of his sweaty skin, and Blaine snuggled in closer and pulled the blankets back up.

Then he pressed a few lazy kisses into the back of Kurt’s neck and said, “We should go on a date.”

“Now?” Kurt asked muzzily.

Blaine huffed an amused breath into his skin. “No. Sometime. Right now we should cuddle, and take a nap, and then eat the leftover pancakes you put in the freezer.” He pressed himself more firmly into Kurt’s back.

“Blaine,” Kurt mumbled. “I just slept for hours. I don’t need a nap.”

“Mmmm, but if we sleep now we can stay up all night,” Blaine said, trailing his lips lightly over the curve of Kurt's shoulder, as though the suggestion in his voice wasn’t clear enough.

Kurt snorted into the pillow that his face was still pressed against. “I should have known you’d be insatiable.”

“Is that a problem?” Blaine asked, pulling his mouth away from Kurt’s skin and burrowing into the back of his neck. 

“…no.”

Blaine just hummed again, but Kurt could hear the smile in it. He could also hear the way Blaine’s breathing was evening out and deepening, and he jiggled his arm to keep him from drifting off. “We can’t nap, Blaine,” he said firmly. “We’re going to be stuck together if we don’t get cleaned up soon.”

“I wouldn’t mind being stuck to you,” Blaine said sleepily, giving the back of his neck another kiss.

“That’s very sweet. And gross,” Kurt replied as Blaine started tugging on the sheet. “What are you doing?” 

“Getting us cleaned up.” Blaine drew the sheet back over Kurt’s body, and Kurt snatched up the edge of the blanket to keep it from going along. He felt Blaine gently wiping them off, and then he kicked the sheet to the bottom of the bed underneath the covers.

Kurt grumbled as Blaine scooted back in and pulled Kurt up onto his side to spoon him. “Okay, no, _that’s_ gross.”

“No, that's resourceful. Now you’re clean and you have to stay here with me for a little while.”

“I don't know if _clean_ is the right word for it, but maybe... a little while,” Kurt conceded, warm and comfortable snuggled up against Blaine and — though he wouldn’t have believed it possible — feeling a bit sleepy after all. From having sex. With Blaine. He smiled and let his body relax fully into the bed and into Blaine's embrace.

“And then pancakes?” Blaine asked hopefully. 

“If you want.”

“ _Kurt_ , they are _amazing_. I can’t believe I’ve known you for this long and I’ve never had them before.” There was a quiet pause, and then Blaine added, sounding more serious, “I wish I had gotten to try them sooner.”

Kurt considered that. “ _Pancakes_ better not be some sort of strange metaphor for my ass.”

Blaine let out a startled laugh and squeezed Kurt tightly for a second. When he spoke, his voice was still more solemn than Kurt had expected. “No, it’s not a metaphor. At least… not like that.”

“Then… like what?” Kurt asked quietly.

“Just… that it could be safe to say…” Blaine’s chest expanded and then a careful breath blew across Kurt’s skin. “That I think I’m in love with your pancakes.” 

_Oh_. Kurt blinked, but otherwise stayed very still. “You think or you know?” he whispered.

Blaine smiled into his skin. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)


End file.
